I’ll share something I haven’t really done much before. We’re all aware of how sketchy translated text can be. You miss out on the feel of the language it was originally written in. But what if you have absolutely no idea about the original language in the first place? In this case, the translation is all you have.
What happens then is that the translation forms its own importance. Since we don’t really know what we’re missing on, we create a new appreciation of the poetry that’s based on the translation.
Sometimes what I love to do is play around with translations. There’s distinct emotions I get whilst I’m reading these things, and from time to time I like to take really old translations of ancient works and re-write them in my own (modern) style.
Some might say that’s hugely narcissistic. While that’s true slightly, I do try to stay really faithful to the translation I’ve read, and most of the time I try to bring out my own emotions/interpretation of what I’ve read. Also it’s quite an intimate experience of trying to mimic the style of what you’re writing. To use a musical metaphor (or analogy if that’s easier) it would be like playing a segment of a song you enjoy but starting to play around with the melodies until you reach a place that feels very close.
I’ve done a modern interpretation of some old (and I mean OLD) translations of Rumi. Ideally I’d like to get to the point where it feels comfortable for you to read it. I want you to feel like you’re not stumbling on big words or complicated sentences. I want to mimic that feeling of Rumi whispering into your ear. While the old translations do the job of getting that ancient persian into understanding for us, some of that magic is lost to a lot of people due to how old the English is. It would be nice for people to read Rumi without having to struggle (and that’s how it should be).
This is from the very opening section of Rumi’s book (The Masnavi) and this introduction is sometimes called the song of the reed. Rumi forces us to imagine the sound of a flute and then gives that flute the ability to speak its mind and tell us how it feels, which is what happens for the most of the section. We don’t really hear Rumi’s voice, but the voice that he gives to the flute. It’s a very powerful section, about being separated from somewhere beautiful.
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Sit here and listen to the reed flute,
How it sheds tears of sound,
And sings us a story of painful
Separation.
It says to us :
“Ever since they tore me
From the source of God, ,
My songs have moved
Men and women to tears.
I want a heart that is torn apart
By the pain of separation.
So that I can unfold to you
The story of love’s desire.
I burst open my heart,
Decorated myself with sighs,
For my only existence,
Is to miss my home.
Once you are poisoned by distance,
The only antidote is home.
I have been suffering for so long,
Though I surround myself around everyone
With all their silence and singing,
Though I surround myself with my friends,
Something is missing.
Every friend thought they were close to me,
But nobody tried to find my deepest secrets.
My secrets aren’t very far from my sadness.
But eyes and ears can never see or hear
Something so invisible.
There’s no denying your soul.
There’s no denying your own body.
You know they exist.
But yet somehow,
Nobody has the power
To see another soul
Not even mine. “
The Center Space 